I Met Her in New York, Lincoln was President
by RedNightBird
Summary: Thank-you for indulging me in extrapolating Josef's quote to Beth Turner, This story is set in summer, 1861 New York. Lincoln is President. And Josef is enjoying an "incarnation" as Rory Fitzgerald.


Disclaimer: Moonlight is the property of CBS, Warner Bros. and Silver Productions.

No fee of any kind has or will be charged for the reading of this related fiction.

"**I First Met Her in New York, Lincoln Was President"**

**Thank-you for indulging me in extrapolating Josef's quote, **

**This story is set in summer, 1861 New York. Lincoln is President. **

**And Josef is enjoying an "incarnation" as Rory Fitzgerald.  
>======================================================<strong>

Mick had thrown down the challenge, was there a "Cure" for vampirism? As diplomatically as Josef could put it, there was none. At least none that Josef would talk to Mick about. If his broody friend had the optimism of a cure on the horizon he'd exhaust himself like a pig nosing out truffles.

So now Beth had been to Josef's office, tossing down a collection of photographs that chronicled Coraline's courtship with mortal Mick. What honesty had Josef given her? That if Morgan was Coraline she would claim Mick for herself, it wasn't the news Beth truly desired. Once he walked Beth to the door he puttered. Josef was not given to puttering, but as he ran his thumbs under the suspender straps and then sunk his fists into his pockets he thought about the circumstances surrounding his meeting Coraline Duvall.

_It was another life in another time.  
><em>  
><strong>1861<strong>

Night was falling heavily and the welcome lanterns were lit when Rory Fitzgerald handed his reins and horse to the stable boy and paused on the porch on his way into the reception. He was fashionably late. No need to mention the unpleasantness of the ride up here, but Rory was more than relieved to have escaped the city today. The mobs had been gathering since this morning, and it looked as if a riot was unavoidable at this point. Well, the mood had been festering since the Governor had announced the Union Draft.

Now that Ft. Sumter had been fired upon the idea of war was real, and many of his Irish fellow expatriates felt they had escaped England's rule merely to be forced into a war that was not their own in America. If Rory was any judge of the times, New York City itself would not be safe for several more days. And since Rory had more than 250 years of personal experience to draw from, he felt his predictions were more than a little accurate.

It would be a pleasure to spend some time in the blooming spring of the country, enjoying the fresh air and peace. He only hoped his house and possessions would be standing when he arrived back home. He turned to his valet who was just now pulling up in the carriage carrying his trunks.

"See to it the house staff gets these trunks, Wes, and then head round to the kitchen and get yourself some dinner. After you get my things put away I won't need you for the rest of the night. Have yourself some revelry."

"As you wish, Sir." The English manservant replied and went to do his master's bidding.

Giles Duvall heard the carriage pull up and stepped onto the porch to welcome his tardy guest. "Rory! Always good to see you, my friend!" He said, speaking in his native French, and knowing Rory was fluent in his language.

"Giles!" Rory embraced him receiving a kiss on both cheeks from his friend. "It's been far too long. I hate it when you're away buying. But I'm hoping you brought me some beautiful fabrics and perfumes to entice the ladies!"

"Ah Rory, for you my friend, only the best! My cousin Coraline has assured me she selected only the newest and best for you! Come in to meet her! I'm sure the two of you will get on famously!"

Rory doffed his hat and gloves as they headed into the foyer and handed them to the waiting servant at the door. The interior of the home was rich with taste and elegance, laden with antiques acquired over the span of several lifetimes. Many items were original Louis XVI pieces the family had managed to escape with just before the Revolution turned ugly.

If the Duvall family had anyone to thank for help and support at that time of the purge in France, it was (then) Sean Fitzgerald who had welcomed them to his grand Irish estate and given them shelter until it was safe to return to home. They had forged a solid friendship that had lasted centuries.

Josef settled back with a cigar, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. Had he not extended that first courtesy would Mick be a vampire today? It's one thing to accept that the choices you make effect you, it is a heavy admonition that the choices you make effect the world.

"Rory!" He heard Marie's voice from across the room, and looked up to see Giles's wife usher another woman along to greet him.

"Mon ami Cherie!" She cooed, kissing each cheek. "I have missed you Rory! You look very fit! Have you brought an acquaintance to visit us this trip? Or will you require companionship?"

"Marie, mon amour!" Rory exclaimed extravagantly and bent her back over his arm to kiss her playfully on the lips. "When are you going to leave Giles and come away with me? You know I never bring another female to visit when you are here! They all pine away when confronted with your splendor!"

"I see you've been visiting the blarney stone again, Sean!" She teased, using his old name, the name he'd used when he and Marie were lovers. "But look! Look at the delectable creature I've brought to amuse you! Rory, this is Coraline Duvall. She is Giles's first cousin."

Rory looked over at the stunning brunette standing just behind Marie. She was one of the cousins who had survived the Revolution better than most, and had never visited Ireland. Rory's eyes warmed in admiration of her beauty. Tall, slender, regal and graceful, with knowing black eyes framed by thick sooty lashes that looked out of a face like an angel's; with just a hint of the devil in the promise of that generous full mouth. Rory bowed formally over her hand and kissed it. "Enchante Mademoiselle."

She smiled winsomely as she admired the dashing figure of the man before her. Their eyes met and locked, and she felt as if she'd known him forever. "Captiv`e, monsieur!"

She turned gracefully and led him into the parlor. Please, come and have some refreshment after your long journey. Katie!" She called to a young woman who hung reluctantly back along the wall. "Come and furnish our guest with some refreshment. Quickly girl! Don't stand there quivering like a frightened rabbit!"

Rory frowned. He could never get used to the less than kind way the Duvall's treated their servants, especially their Freshers. It had been a bone of contention between them from the first, this attitude of ruthless superiority and cruelty; and Rory could see Coraline had inherited her line's bad habits. Rory abhorred it. For one thing, it ruined the taste of the meal, and filled the blood with resentment and outrage. Well little Katie was in for a treat tonight, then.

Katie forced herself away from the wall, radiating revulsion and offense, and walked slowly toward them, clearly commanding her feet to move with each step. Coraline led Rory to the divan and settled herself in a nearby chair to watch, her gaze sharpening and her breath quickening as she anticipated his taking of the girl's blood. Rory stood politely until the girl reached him, and gallantly offered his hand to seat her. He took in the shabby clothes that did nothing to adorn what was a slender but voluptuous figure. She was pale beneath her soft complexion, and made paler still by the contrast of deep auburn hair that fell in waves across her shoulders and down her back.

Her large azure eyes questioned him and her head cocked slightly in curiosity as she studied him. This approach was new. He smiled warmly at her, waiting until she had settled herself comfortably before he released her hand and sat beside her, treating her like a lady. At last he forced a tentative smile from her, and his own grew wider.

Rory's eyes wandered over her flesh, and he couldn't miss the many scars on her arms and neck. God only knew what blemishes the rest of her body bore. This girl had been overworked and haphazardly treated by her masters. Well, he couldn't help what had gone before, but Rory could offer some comfort now, and show her that not all vampires were cruel.

"Are you up to giving me blood tonight, Katie?" He asked in English, his voice filled with genuine concern.

The girl glanced nervously at Coraline who bristled with disapproval, and answered in her soft Irish brogue. "I have no choice, Sir."

"I see."

Rory smiled at her again and her misgivings seemed to flee like ghosts up a chimney. He took her hand to cradle her arm and find an acceptable vein and saw with dismay that she had been so poorly used that no viable vein remained. His distressed eyes looked into hers and tears brightened her blue eyes as she braced herself for more pain.

"Katie," He suggested gently, "I wonder if you would object if I drew from your neck?"

Denial would not be permitted, Rory knew. And even though Katie might find the act more threatening at first, it would cause her far less pain than her exhausted wrists. Rory knew he could make it satisfying for her. She gave him a stiff nod of approval, and he settled her subtly trembling body close to his. The smell of potato peelings and laundry starch wafted from her cotton clothing. Castile soap attempted to cover it all, that and a bit of rose water.

Her fingers were numb with fear as they undid the top few buttons of her well-worn bodice to free the space at her collar, but Rory's were confident and strong as he brushed her fingers aside and spread the collar apart. His gentle left hand reached up to cup her trembling jaw, his thumb just under her chin and the bulk of his hand holding and cushioning the back of her neck and head. "It will be all right." He whispered softly as he began first scenting her neck, then gently kissing the soft flesh there.

Katie drew in a tentative gasp as his cool lips touched her flesh. When she relaxed once more Rory licked a firm line with his tongue, tracing the track of the more minor vein he wanted, and noting with disgust that the major veins had been way over-harvested. No wonder the poor girl was pale and shaky. She had lost much too much blood. She needed comfort not more retribution.  
>Rory's eyes left her neck temporarily to glance at the faces of Coraline, Marie and Giles, now all staring hungrily, waiting for his bite. A meal was a spectator sport and no help would come from that quarter.<p>

When Katie was relaxed in his arms Rory let his fangs descend and bit gently into the abused flesh, just nicking the vein and letting the blood pool up to him rather than drawing against her. Katie sighed and her eyes fluttered shut as the impact of his bite hit her. She had never experienced this before. All the other bites had been brutal, especially when she'd resisted. But this, this was pleasant, gentle, warm and... romantic?

As Rory drew against her very gently, taking as little as possible while making it look as though he was taking much more, the true erotic nature of the bite began to overtake her. He could feel her heart begin to pound; feel the blood rushing to her core as her musky scent exploded around him. He smirked and sealed the wound as he tasted the orgasm she hid from all the others. He needed to get her out of here before her scent gave his game away. She drooped back limply in his arms and he rose from the divan cradling her against him.

"She's delicious!" He told them approvingly. Rory turned to Marie. "I'd like to keep her with me for the duration of this visit if you approve."

Coraline sniffed her obvious disapproval, but Marie inclined her head in answer. He was, after all, their guest. They owed him an enormous debt, and what was one servant, more or less.

"If you'll have a servant guide me to my room, I'll install her in my bed for later tonight!"

"O'Brien!" Coraline ordered sternly, snapping her fingers. "Show Mr. Fitzgerald to his room."

O'Brien was a hulking mortal male with hair the same color and texture as Katie's. Her brother, Rory wondered? Father? A relative of some sort, who would account for the bristling hostility Rory felt as he was ushered from the room and up the stairs to his sumptuous bedroom. Wesley had turned the bed clothes down, and Rory laid the swooning Katie gently against the pillows, and pulled the covers securely up around her, snuggling her into the bed. She moaned softly, and her eyes fluttered open, gazing into his with wide-eyed amazement.

"That will be all, O'Brien." Rory said with finality, not brooking a discussion, or worse, a challenge from the man clearly needing to protect his family. O'Brien hesitated briefly and then walked out of the room shutting the door. Rory would have been better pleased if he'd at least protested. Clearly no one here could or would protect this lovely young girl from deleterious happenstance of her employment. Well, if no one else would protect her, he would.

Her eyes continued to hold his but she didn't speak. "Are you all right, Katie?" He whispered.

"Yes." She murmured at last. "Where are we?"

"My suite, I fear." He forestalled her objections by placing a cool fingertip upon her lips. "I have no designs on you, Katie." He told her. "I simply needed to get you out of there before more of them fed on you. Claiming you seemed to be the most expedient way."

She said nothing but watched him warily. He couldn't blame her for being mistrustful. "You need to rest." He continued. "Sleep. I'll see that someone brings you food and plenty of fluids a little later. You must drink it all. Promise me."

"Yes, sir." She acquiesced quietly.

"I will not share this bed with you." He told her sincerely then gave a jaunty smile. "Well, unless you invite me to. I will protect and aid you if you will let me."

And despite months of the cruelest mistreatment since she'd arrived in this new country, Katie believed this handsome man with the kind whiskey brown eyes, as hers grew sleepy again, she fought to resist their closing. Rory chuckled and kissed her cheek.

"Sleep now, little one. I must go back to the party. We'll talk again later." She was asleep before he could even rise from the bed.

On the landing Rory encountered Wesley, who was returning with some freshly touched up shirts. "Wes!" Josef draped a familiar arm around his valet. "I have a young woman occupying my bed." Wesley raised an eyebrow at his employer but said nothing, and Rory chuckled. "No, it's not like that." He assured him good naturedly. She needs rest, food and plenty of fluids. Let her sleep for a time and then be sure she eats and drinks. Will you do that for me?"

"Of course, sir."

"See if you can find out who her family is below stairs, and if they'd be willing to part with her. I'm going to offer for her to become one of our Freshers."

"Yes, sir." Wesley was in the habit of rolling gold coins into the hands of male family members who sold their sisters and daughters for short shrift. Since his employment with Mr. Fitzgerald he had "saved" no less than 27 women from becoming exhausted chattel. At least Mr. Fitzgerald fed and clothed them and contributed to their future welfare.

Josef fingered the keyboard on his desk. He had singlehandedly financed the education of generations of women, all because they fed him exactly what he needed over these 400 years. It was an equitable arrangement, even though he couldn't convince Mick it was the vampire way.

"And Wes, I'm afraid I'm going to need a quick pint from you tonight if you're up for it. I absolutely cannot feed from her. They've taken so much they've damn near killed her. She won't be able to donate again for week, perhaps months."

"I'm hale and hearty, sir, you can always have what you need from me, Mr. Fitzgerald." Wesley assured him. "But if you can't feed from her, why are you offering for her?"

Rory's face and tone were solemn. "Because I don't believe in abusing people for their blood when they're vulnerable and desperate, especially beautiful young women. She came to America for a better life, and if I have anything to say about it, she's going to get just that."

If the Duvalls thought there was something odd in the way Rory behaved towards his supper, they said nothing, and the evening continued to progress with delightful conversation and a stimulating game of charades.

Coraline, despite her seeming haughty superiority towards humans, was bright and charming and winning in every way visible, and she knew it. She had been a courtesan in Louis's Court. Well, she'd absorbed much in her time there Rory estimated. Rory could well guess that her fortune was closely linked to men she could entice with her charm and beauty.

From the curve of her hip to the spark of her smile, Coraline might be worth a tumble someday if he was feeling vicious. But for now, Rory was most anxious to check on the wellbeing of the girl he hoped would become his new Fresher.

Very early morning found him back on the landing to his room ravenous. A beam of lantern light peeked from under Wesley's door down the hall, the mortal servant having adopted his employer's hours, and Rory decided to go in for a quick snack before heading to his own room. He knocked respectfully at the door.

"I'm sorry to bother you, old man, but I'm bloody hungry." Rory apologized.

"Come in, Sir. I was just reading." Wesley invited, and rolled up his sleeve for Rory without a second thought. Rory sat comfortably on the bed and accepted the offered wrist. He did not make a habit of feeding from Wesley, but they had done it a few times when the need had been as great as it was tonight. Rory was always careful to mitigate the pain of the bite without infusing it with sensuality as he would for a female Fresher. Wesley would just feel comfortably sleepy when they were done.

"Do you think you can find me some volunteers among our staff, Wes?" Rory asked. "I really don't wish to dine on the poor souls the Duvalls keep. They're not in the best condition."

"I'm sure it won't be a problem, sir."

"And how did our Katie eat, tonight?"

Wesley was instantly outraged. "She was ravenous! They've been feeding her very poorly indeed. She is such a pleasant young woman, sir, horrible of them to have mistreated her this way."

Rory put a hand on his servant's shoulder. "I quite agree, Wes. We'll do something about that! You sleep in tomorrow. I can handle my own needs. Thanks for the impromptu meal."

"Anytime, sir." Wes agreed, stifling a yawn, and making Rory chuckle as he shut the door.

Katie opened her eyes as the lantern light flared in the room, and was temporarily disoriented as she tried to remember where she was, at the same time her gratitude mounted for this stranger for providing her the comfort and softness of a guest's bed and linens. She gazed at the window and its fluttering lace curtain as reality returned.

"Wesley tells me you ate well." Rory said. She turned startled eyes his way and he smiled at her as he undid his bow tie and loosened his collar.

What now? She wondered feeling completely vulnerable. Was she to be forced into whoring as well as blood giving?

"Yes. Very well, thank you, Sir." She answered stiltedly. "I haven't eaten so well in many months." She sat up in the bed and drew the covers firmly up to her chin. Rory grinned and shrugged out of this jacket and waist coat.

"I'm glad to hear you enjoyed your meal. I plan on providing many more."

She studied him uncertainly. "Why? Why would you do that for me?" She asked bewildered. "What do you want from me?"

Rory continued unbuttoning his shirt and pulled it off, and her eyes grew wide looking at the firm, wide expanse of his chest. She blushed furiously and tried desperately to focus on his eyes instead. "Do I make you uneasy?" He asked with a lark.

"Extremely nervous." She agreed.

"Well, I can't very well sleep in my evening wear. But just so you know, the only other item coming off tonight is my boots."

"What do you want from me?" She repeated in a strangled whisper.

He walked to the boot block and let it hold the heel of his boots as he withdrew one foot and then the other. "I desire whatever you wish to grant me." He replied easily. "I would enjoy having you as one of my Freshers if you'd like to come to the city with me."

He gave her a quick grin that danced butterflies in her stomach. "I'm sure your blood is delicious when you're healthy. Or, you could work for me as a servant if you'd prefer." He drew off his socks and padded over to the bed barefoot. One cool hand reached out to caress her flushed cheek. "Or you could be my lover." She gasped. "You do know about lady friends; do you not, lovely Katie? What do you want to do?"

"I..." Katie was truly flustered now. "This is extraordinary. I don't..."

He stooped to kiss her, his lips took hers softly and caressed them with short urgent kisses before she finally parted her lips and he tongue daringly plundered her mouth. She shuddered and gasped and drew back, and Rory chuckled. An old fashioned girl from the old country, he knew their ilk only too well. But he would draw her out, knew he'd draw her out before their time together was over. And Rory knew, even if Katie did not, that she would become one of his Freshers, and one of his lovers. Quite soon, he supposed.

Katie felt the bed went cool with his body alongside hers. The Duvalls has always been rough, stopping just short of throwing her onto a bed or worse. Their remarks had been she was bony, not womanly enough, yet how could she expect to be soft and warm when they fed her just enough to keep her upright. Her cloths had been held together with ties, she had lost so much weight since arriving at their back door with the initial job of ironing and cooking. They didn't need a cook; they needed a body to feed off of.

Her gentleman slid closer, initially giving her a chill that shivered her body, a cool arm came across her breasts, and the thin night gown barely veiled his body temperature. She had been a virgin when she arrived and had stayed intact; she was apprehensive of what he'd inflict on her, even though he was a fine-looking gentleman.

His lips were within whispering distance, "Katie, sleep, I'll not bother you, just be at ease with me, if you wish to be held, I'd be more than obliged to hold you" and she woodenly turned into his arms. She laid her face on his muscular chest and felt the silk of his shirt, the heavier silk of his breeches, he indeed was a gentleman.

Josef's eyes surveyed the mural on the ceiling, what had it all meant? Was the woman in the mural symbolic of all the Freshies he'd supped from? There the woman crossed, clasping a cape to her breast, a discarded baby doll near her feet. Josef sucked the hot dry smoke into his dead lungs and thought about what happened at the Duvall household over the next few days.

Josef kept nightly tabs on Beth; it simply wouldn't do for her to stumble on an inexplicable fact about this Morgan Vincent. The subject burned within him after their "back and forth".

"You have to understand, Mick and Coraline's relationship was one of those terrifying, completely self-destructive freak shows that you spend your whole life searching for knowing it can only end in one or both of you dead"

Beth's nearly derisive retort was, "That's your idea of love?"

Josef could only answer within the context of his lifetime, "What can I tell you, I'm a romantic."

Even he could find nothing concrete, but the fact that Morgan Vincent's family had lost contact with her meant he smelled a Duvall and that tang was hard to scour out of your nostrils whether you were vamp or mortal.

Josef chuckled that he had tipped off Mick to Beth's foray into espionage. By now Mick should be charming little Miss Buzzwire from the passenger seat of her hybrid, or so Josef hoped. Could Mick talk Beth down from the mental ledge she was walking?

July 4, 1861 - Lincoln, in a speech to Congress, stated the war is..."a People's contest...a struggle for maintaining in the world, that form, and substance of government, whose leading object is, to elevate the condition of men..." The Congress authorizes a call for 500,000 men.

This being "the people's contest" meant it was no fight of his, it was past sunset and Rory sat at in the parlor, behind heavy Irish lace curtains. Reading the newspaper, weighing his options for travel during these politically unsure times it was the time to return to Manhattan with Katie in tow. Rory knew vampires would be scrutinized, why would seemingly healthy looking men not be conscripted into service…then again…how could a vampire suit up into uniform and live alongside humans, wouldn't one battle be too much for a vampire to handle?

In War all that blood flowed with so much waste, Rory' tongue tutted as he watched the household staff mill about the DuVall home. Rory watched as Coraline held a head to head conversation with her Fresher, a strapping dark haired man with cutting good looks. Coraline sat on the fainting couch, engaging him in near sex play; she was relentless in her open sexuality.

Rory fought the temptation to watch her slender ivory fingers comb the deep brown curls at the Fresher's linen collar. She had untied her Meal's string tie and had made a game of unbuttoning the man's shirt, leaving small bites down the strong column of the young man's neck until she bit him firmly over his heart. His long lashes fluttered over his blue/green eyes as it seemed his delirium took over. Coraline's other hand skated over the front of the man's breeches, fluttering over the front panel between the double row of buttons holding back his burgeoning erection.

The French can be so gauche; Rory thought as he folded the paper up and sought the peace of his guest suite.

Josef puffed on the cigar as he identified Coraline always had a "type". Regardless of his name or incarnation, he himself had never entranced Coraline; his personality was always peripheral to her desires. Mick's body type was her ideal, Mick's aquiline profile and the cleft in his chin would drive her delirious in any century. Josef leaned back in his chair and thought about this Morgan's strategies. Was she Coraline? Would her aim be true? Would she re-claim Mick?

Rory knocked quietly on the closed door; he was affording Miss Katie all the privacy he could. "Miss Katie" he announced his approached, she dipped a curtsy as she opened the door and stood back with a soft nod, he passed her and walked to the humidor, chose a cigar and waited while she approached him to cut and light it for him. Katie had spent a little more than 2 weeks as a most gracious and eager to please attendant.

At dawn she would fall into bed, and cleave to his body. They "slept" together in the feather bed, his arms around her shoulders, and by the third night he learned to sleep on his stomach to hide his interest in her pure, innocent aroma. As much as he noticed her curiosity she was still not up to a good weight, she still didn't fill out her clothing well enough, her complexion was still wan and her pulse meager. Wesley had brought back pints of fresh cream and boxes of pastries from the farm down the road, Rory wondered how long it would be before he had worn out his welcome with the Duvalls, when it would be safe to return to Manhattan.

"What do you make of this?" Marie threw down the newspaper, headlines revealed, "BLOODBATH". Rory reluctantly picked up the single sheet, read the short article and regarded the pen sketch illustrating the supposed murder tableau.

"I believe that Monsieur Frankel involved himself in unwise ventures….perhaps this is not our business to delve in?" Rory passed the paper back to Marie. Rory wouldn't say more, Mr. Frankel had been an influential vampire in Europe; he came to the colonies and lived an unassuming life until about 20 years ago when he began to finance railroads….of the human type. He kept Freshers, stables of them.

Of course, Frankel had also trafficked in more deadly substances than blood. Frankel had carried the "cure" over on an "extreme Clipper" from France. The precious cargo was packaged as "agrarian supplies" left alone by the graft to the Customs Inspectors. In the event that the United States Government ever issued a pogrom on Vampires, Frankel and his cohorts were protected. Until now, someone had staged a power play for this internationally desired compound.

By the late 1800's it became apparent the lion's share of the "Cure" had been waylaid by Duvall Highwaymen, no doubt. In 1861 Josef had not realized the DuVall household had become a hive of deceit. Today, as he contemplated Morgan Vincent he remembered catching Coraline's narrowed eyes as he entered rooms; slips of her conversations raised the hairs on his neck. Had the compound been reconfigured for the 21st century? If it had, what did Josef need to do to prevent it from falling into Mick's hands? If it did, what were the chances it would pass through Morgan Vincent's hands?

These facts made Rory uncomfortable. Mystery had clamped silence down on the household as Rory made his plans to return to Manhattan. Frankel's legacy drove Rory to maintain his practice of always supping privately, he kept a house staff or he would take advantage of his host's generosity. Mr. Frankel literally bled his stable of men and women perhaps had a father or another relative caught on…._Or had a fellow Vamp desired the compound for themselves?  
><em>  
>Human staff could always be bought off; yet a vampire was only as safe as his least loyal employee.<p>

While the local constabulary paid a pittance of attention to the death of a local ner'do well, Frankel's murder or the rumor of his execution rippled thru the vampire society and it was enough to drive Rory home to Manhattan. That night as Rory gathered up his trunks, the parish priest knocked at the manse's leaded glass front door.

"Madame Marie, it' necessary for me to make passage back to the city, would you know of anyone heading east?" The parish priest played humble well when it served him, he usually felt right at home sitting at the wealthiest tables for Sunday Dinner. Now he played the poormouth, begging passage back to the city. Not that Rory minded yet it struck him odd that the Priest would find it necessary to travel, when Miss Katie had just taken the sacrament of Confession and attended Mass and Communion earlier in the day.

"If you travel with just a carpet bag I can accommodate you" Rory answered from the top of the mahogany staircase, he was tying his string tie at his neck as he descended the stairs. Rory had bartered a fair price to bring Miss Katie with him, as his meal on wheels. Wesley was used to running the wagon slowly in the full moon's light, they'd travel to dawn and stay with a "friend" of the family, then take up their travels at sunset and make their way home to the Rory's massive brownstone. Exactly how frank he could be with the Padre in tow Rory was unsure.

Marie and Coraline stood waving in the gaslight of the porch as Rory tipped his silk hat and saw that the Padre and Miss Katie were inside the coach, he took an athletic stride up the side of the coach to sit beside Wesley, he enjoyed his manservant's company and wanted to escape the thumping metronome of Katie's life forces.

Rory's resistance, his couth was beginning to wear thin as the last few days had almost plumped and pinked her cheeks. She had wound her genteel scent thru all of his belongings as she washed and pressed his clothing, just her handling them drove Rory nearly insane, he was drowning in her mortal allure. A long night's ride alongside grizzly Wesley would hold Rory's steely reserve in check.

The riots in the city had pockmarked the front of his gracious home, in war time how would he engage masons to repair the damage? In 1858 Gas Lamps had come to his street, they only served to sadden him at the waste this un-civil war laid in its path.

Civil disobedience was a by-product of this "Civil War" and what was so civil about it all? Rory's mind ran thru the European battlefields he had stalked over as he ascended the wide steps of his home, Katie and the Padre flagging behind him. War was dim-witted. As the door opened, his major domo greeted him. "My name is Victor, I will see you each to your quarters, and Mr. Fitzgerald is road weary and turning in"

Rory untied his necktie as he descended the stairs to the cellar, where his stone bed awaited him…. Once reclined his closed his eyes and relegated the past few weeks to being a bad memory.

Fragile or not, memories carve indelibly into your mind. Once Mick understood that Morgan was Coraline Josef had the urge to comb thru memories he had held of this dark eyed demon. He paced the patio, thinking of Mick in that insipid Hawaiian shirt, plunking on a guitar while Coraline plotted his untimely demise. "Life" regardless of being alive or undead was never fair.

Nightly Rory watched his young ward as she moved thru the brownstone, adjusting draperies, dusting the oxblood colored mahogany furniture. The Padre had promised to leave the following morning and now as Rory rose for his evening meal he was assaulted by the man's brogue rising from the kitchen. Rory knew the vocational hand dealt this man of the Church, being the third or fourth son; he had been relegated to the Priesthood. Yet the Padre seemed to exhibit far more cunning, much like a Borgia and Rory knew where that ended.

"Katie, your eternal soul is at hand here, when you engage in….." The Priest's right hand was raised as if he should have been blessing her, yet the girl's face belied that fact. As Josef shuffled into the butler's pantry the Priest's voice silenced.

"Do go on, what exactly is my Katie engaging in that threatens her eternal soul?" Rory barked as his silhouette filled the doorway, elbows out, fists at his waist. The Priest's cassock swished with his turning to face the master of the home as the color flushed his already florid complexion.

"I am her confessor, and her transgressions are sacred to the confessional" He made that conversational course correction at ease with his subterfuge.

"Then reserve your admonitions to the confessional, not my household" Josef circled to the other side of the kitchen, chose a glass and left with a suspect eye focused on the Priest. "Padre, when will the chapter house be ready for you?" Rory had extended all the hospitality he cared to extend.

In the weeks following the Padre's immigration to Manhattan the Vampire community was traumatized. Discreet homes had been plundered in the bright lights of dawn; Freshers were beaten and ridden off with jeers. Zealots, clad in red hooded capes wrested Vampires from their stone enclosures, beheaded the undead and burnt their bodies in the backyards. Rory's social fabric was wearing threadbare.

When had Josef changed? He examined his conscious and realized his personality progressively matured thru his incarnations. He estimated as he had "aged" his trust had eroded. His metamorphosis had been glacial; Mick was far too fresh to understand. Torch bearing mobs would do that to you; Mick was a prime example of too young and too trusting. Hadn't Mick revealed his nature to Beth early in their meeting? Regardless of Josef's guidance, Mick hadn't eliminated Lee Jay and that threatened the Tribe.  
>Josef recalled his early burning desire to change the span of his world with his powers of persuasion and his wealth acquired thru dominance. His forbears had trembled in 1536, when Henry VIII of England deposed the Fitzgerald dynasty as Lords Deputies of Ireland. It would take two generations for Rory's family to establish themselves before his mortal birth in 1599.<p>

Lessons learned in war were knowledge for keeping the peace and peace was essential for survival.

"Katie, a moment of your time, please", Victor's commanding voice bellowed from the doorway, Katie was thoughtfully at evening prayer on the kneeler before the fireplace. She dutifully followed him into Rory's study, where her Lord and Master sat on the fainting couch, his kid gloves in his hands, head bowed.

"Sir?" Katie curtsied, feeling awkward before his exhausted form. It was time for her full performance, she had been fed and rested and the physician had deemed her "healthy"

"Katie, have we attended to your needs?" Rory's voice barely broached a mortal's hearing, his head still bowed.

"Exceedingly so, Sir" she whispered, then nibbling her top lip she waited for the inevitable.

"Then what purpose would you site for visiting the Padre daily? Is your immortal soul in need of daily sacraments?" Rory's transformed face met Katie's mask of confusion. She shook her head, as her body quivered.

Katie's body went limp to leave her on her knees, her folded hands holding the wooden Rosary with her calico dress puddled around her folded legs. "I have dark thoughts" she now confessed to Rory.

"We all do, these are dark days. We all wonder where our next meals might come from, we wonder if marauders will pillage our homes, when soldiers will attack us" Rory's list could go on; he wished he had travelled further west into the wilderness. "Wesley tells me you travel to the Church daily, that you are gone for 2 or more hours and you return empty handed."

Katie's eyes rose as tears slowly rolled down her cheeks. "Yessir" her words ran together, frozen at his next question.

"What does go on at these "confessions"?" Rory now phased back to his mortal visage, yet his curiosity raged.

"The Padre prays over me. He lays relics and anoints me with holy oil, then I sleep" Her words came in great gulps, her guilt now evident.

"Is there anyone else with him?" Now Rory's hands were steepled as if in prayer to discern the Padre's intentions.

"No, sir, only the Padre" Now she was prostrate on the floor before him, her hair fiery waves covering her arms before her. Rory saw her contrition and read her submission in her frantic scent. With a sense of erotically charged compassion Rory reached out to her, joining her on the carpet. Rory pulled her up, finding she was only too ready to embrace him.

Their eyes met in a consensus, that perhaps their dark thoughts had a common ground to feed their most raw desires.

"How can you understand what my life has been like? You are so fortunate, you have no idea" Katie's pain at her lot in life erupted as Rory held her close. She had escaped being raped in the Duvall household simply for her physical frailties, now hale and hearty, would the exploitation begin?

"I too, have differences, differences that have lasted far longer than my short life" he answered.

"You are not a monster. You are not repulsive or ugly or dishonorable. You are the most beautiful thing in my life, the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. Mr. Fitzgerald, my admiration for you does not blind me—it shows you to me" her pale hands held his face just inches from hers. "You saved me, you saved me from ogres"

"I knew you are terrified, I could only envision what you were going through. I know another's touch must be incredibly difficult for you to accept, yet some things can only be said without words. I need to show you how much I ca…."

Rory's words failed as she kissed him harder. His hands roamed her body with abandon; usually nimble fingers fought her layers of clothing. Tonight he has thankful she was in her chemise and pantaloons under her robe. Their hands were shaking as they tried to undress each other, until they finally gave that up and removed their own. When Katie's warm hands touched his cool chest for the first time, his composure failed and he simply stopped thinking or worrying.

Her nails on his chest made him shiver with longing. His mouth found her breasts and they both cried out. There was nothing gentle about this; their combined dark desires propelled them blindly toward release, nothing else mattered.

Rory tensed when her hands went to his rows of breech buttons. His head fell back and he was gasping for air. He clenched his jaw as his breeches gave way. He nearly bellowed when he felt her inexperienced fingers slide around him; his head slowly moved back and forth as he moaned, lost in her touch. She explored the pulsing flesh, stroking the prominence of a vein, the curve of Rory's flesh as it hardened further, light fingers moved on his length while her other hand gently cupped to weight him.

"Katie!" he cried. His mind was reeling as he tumbled toward oblivion. It had been so long since he had imagined this ... her ... this feeling.

"Please, Katie, I need ..." he stuttered.

"Yes ..." she breathed her warm vitality into his ear.

"Oh Katie, please ... I need ..." he faltered. He couldn't say it; he felt himself blush even as she pushed him further.

"Tell me what you need, sir," she said, pulling back to look at him, "I have no experience, tell me"

He stared at her through barely opened eyes. The intimacy of this—watching her as she touched him; it was almost too much. But something in her eyes—the gratitude, the passion, the trust—gave him the courage to speak.

"I need ... to be ... inside you ..." he breathed.

He whispered a suggestion; she considered the proud sight before her and accepted the control over his body. Her hands left him for a moment and he was able to take a deep breath as she shifted and struggled on his lap. As soon as he released his breath, he felt her slide down onto him, breaching her maidenhead and in that moment when her virgin's blood flowed around his shaft, without hesitation he completely surrendered to her. Her glistening face was beside his, her hands twisting in his hair, his own hands on the back of her head and around her waist. As she moved against him, he wanted to smile and scream and cry and laugh, all at the same time.

Katie finally was around him, in front of him ... with him ... he felt as if he was holding the whole world in his hands. Everything he had ever wanted to tell her, every time he had stopped his hands from touching her, every time he sank to his knees in the dark and begged some unknown force to give him the strength to let her go now she was healthy, all of that was gone. She was his—they were each other's. It was ... everything.

Katie whimpered against him; her stamina was failing, at least the evenness of it was. He wrapped her tightly in his arms and laid her down on the carpet in front of the fireplace. She made the most heart-wrenching and erotic sound he had ever heard—he cried out to answer her—when he covered her and her legs slipped around him.

"You're so deep inside me," she whispered in his ear, her teeth clenching his lobe. Rory returned the bite with glancing fangs along her collarbone, working his way up to that throbbing vein he had eyed for so long.

The music of their love filled his ears. The foundation was gone, the solo piano notes, the solitary violin. The middle had just ended—the thirds, the counter-melodies and thick harmonies. This was their finale; the driving, pulsing string section was undulating. The dark notes, the minors, were rising to prominence, clashing with the roots and the fifths. The original melody had returned, transformed, but familiar—jumping higher and higher, where instruments ended, where notes ran out. Rory was hearing their song surely as they were writing it now.

The spark of bright light exploded from deep inside his belly and filled his chest. They were nearly there. He had curled around her, protective of her, as he drove his lips around her ivory throat ad with the puncture of her healthy pink flesh Rory them both to completion.

Her blood was alive with devotion and rapture. He was not holding himself back and had never felt so connected to her before. As her ardent blood trickled down his throat it warmed him, flushed his chest to banish his usual pallor. She wanted this; she wanted him to draw out her blood and let it become part of himself. Katie gave all of herself freely, wantonly.

He cried her name when it was over. He didn't move, either, holding them in that twinkling, sacred place they had carved out in front of the roaring fire. His lips trembled as he thought about all the nights he had spent alone, wishing for something, anything, until he had found Katie. But now he realized the longing had never been modest biddings or scattered thoughts. The yearning was not before Katie, his craving was Katie.

Whatsoever he had ever desired for in his lifespan, it had been her. Whenever he had reached for something, it had been her. She was everything. And he was here, with her now, the closest two could ever be, and he felt so blessed. More than anything else, he needed her beside him.

She couldn't stop the tears streaming down her face. Rory, her savior, he surrounded her, filled her. She had pressed his face to her chest when she'd called out his name, Rory. Now he covered her face with kisses, with whisperings of faith and devotion. She beamed and kissed him everyplace she could. They ended up laughing softly together.

"Say you're mine," he implored, gliding his finger down her face.

"I'm yours," she said, without hesitancy, her eyes bright.

Something stirred between them again, driving him to breathe her name—"Katie ..."

"I'm yours, Rory," she answered, moving beneath him.

"Katie ..."

"I'm yours," she repeated, kissing his throat.

Josef knew what drove a Vampire to love a Mortal. For all the power of the undead, the mortal ones spun the fantasy of invigoration that Vampires had abandoned. The grass is always greener, etc., etc. Josef sniffed at the thought of being with Katie and scoffed that Mick had denied himself the optimal joy of coupling with Beth.

Then again, the sound of their heart could drive you to distraction, the throbbing of their lung's inhalations, their exhalations. The sounds of life could be irritating in their repetition when the mortal generating the sounds had betrayed you.

Coraline had arrived the following evening. Victor should have pulled down the shades and turned a deaf ear, yet Katie had answered the door and freely admitted the Master was in town.

"I am amazed you have the strength to open the door" Coraline declared as she withdrew her gloves, waiting for Katie to remove her cape, "You are simply awash in sex" she added with a whisper. Katie graciously removed the cape and gloves and made herself scarce, alerting Victor to Coraline's arrival.

"Good evening Miss Duvall, the Master is playing cards this evening with his brethren" Victor had hoped she would take leave for her accommodations.

"He was not expecting me, Wesley is familiar with me. I need to lay low for a few days, issues were bombastic" Coraline cut her eyes to review the usually masculine parlor. The lace curtains had been soaked and starched and pressed, the room's aroma was now roses and lavender. "How delightful, it does appear as though he was expecting me", then she plowed thru the room, hoop skirts swaying while she chose the utmost comfortable chaise.

"Actually, Ma'am, he did not give us any indication that you were expected" Wesley entered the room and exchanged looks with Victor who also knew his Master's mind in terms of Coraline, especially after the display she had performed weeks ago.

"Then alert him to my arrival and bring me sustenance" she withdrew her fan from her valise at her feet and beat a mean rhythm to display her displeasure. "I do not wish to have any of that shanty Irish either".

Wesley sent Katie with an urgent note; she sped on tiptoes holding the lantern aloft down the muddy alley and up the block to the grander home of Josef's American mentor, Alexander Redmon. Alex had "colonized" his name of Alejandro Diego Rojas once he stepped off the clipper ship in Baltimore Harbor. Katie knocked furtively at the servant's entrance, "My Master has a visitor, she's unexpected I must deliver him home", languid eyes viewed her hurried request as they shuffled to deliver the message. Alex's staff had been dispatched to the scullery and they had been imbibing in the scuppernong wine.

"Katie, Katie…..I was on top of my game" Rory stumbled to the doorway, shirt smeared with wine, smelling of cigars and French Lilac water. He patted his vest for his watch and secured the gold coins from his hand into his pockets. "This needs to be vital, why are you here?" He smoothed his hair while she delivered the news of Coraline's arrival.

"And she doesn't wish to be fed any shanty Irish either" Katie's voice shook with shame at Coraline's declaration. Rory drew her into his arms and kissed the top of her cloak.

"Then she can swallow whatever I have in the decanter, and like it" Rory's lips found Katie's errant curls at her forehead and kissed them back into place. "I'll make my good-byes, wait here".

Josef knew then Coraline was on the lam, by her lack of luggage for a woman of her social stature. The way she clutched the valise to her feet led him to believe she was carrying a treasure beyond pearls or gold. She had secreted the "CURE" into his home in Manhattan.

Mick's ring tone pulsed and Josef grabbed his cell, "Speak, Mick"

"Well, hello to you too, Jos'f" Mick's tone was clipped.

"A lot on my mind, sorry, what's on your broody mind?"

"Morgan Vincent is Coraline" the words terse, Mick's emotions complex. "She was in my shower, we kis…"

Josef cut him off, "Hold it there, I met that woman, she was human". Josef felt his assured realm melt.

"We worked together on a case, I offered her my shower and I just had a gut feeling. When I saw the fleur de lis I knew it was her. That's when we k…"

"Yeah, kissed, great, as usual your little head did the thinking, how'd that work for you?" Josef's aggravation mounted.

"Saved by the bell, it was Beth and before the two of them could pull out the claws, Beth staked Morgan".

The silence was awkward, was Morgan alive, dead or undead? "Well, you've left me hanging, what's the outcome?" Josef carried the phone to his bar, decanted some 0+ and a liberal splash of vodka.

"Morgan's human for now, in the hospital, punctured her left lung, and partially tore the pericardium, she's infected." Mick listed off the diagnoses that kept Morgan/Coraline tethered to machines in ICU.

"Human for now? In what condition is Beth?" Josef probed after he had swallowed an anxious gulp of his cocktail.

"Lucky that Morgan claimed it was an accident, otherwise Beth would be waiting questioning" Mick's sniff told Josef about his general despair at this, yet he was relieved that Mick had not mentioned finding that damned "cure".

"Where is Beth?" Josef anticipated a visit from Blondie.

"She was pissed; she left once we got back from the hospital, knows everything about the kidnapping now, everything except why"

"Do you even understand why, Mick?" another question, another swallow, Josef relished the burn.

"Sometimes I think I do, mostly I don't" Mick's understanding was waning. His spirit was torn between grasping at a cure to be with Beth and having Beth in his arms. Everything in Mick's existence came down to Beth.

"Is there anything I can do while you're on this journey?" Josef meekly asked, friend to friend, not hedge fund millionaire to P.I.

"I'll get back to you on that, Jos'f" Mick quietly closed the call and Josef tapped the telephone to his lip before he laid it down.

Verse from decades ago saturated his despondent heart as Josef watched the Los Angeles sky turn from indigo to cerise before he showered and took subzero refuge. He remembered the Sailor's admonition, "Red sky at morning, Sailors take warning…."

Josef knew you didn't have to be a Sailor to take warning when Coraline swept into your path.

Before Rory and Katie could step between the wheel ruts and the horse manure their gaze was filled with a frantic image of Coraline's elbows bouncing about as she held up her silk skirts skittering from one foot to the other, evading some unseen villain. Rory met her and pulled her into an alcove his attempts to calm her were futile, her words locked in her throat.

"They are at your home, NOW, we have to flee" Desperation painted Coraline's usually passionate face. "It's that traitor I hand delivered to Manhattan" she buried her face in the linen ruffles of Rory's shirt. He blanched under her cold tears.

"Who, Cora, what are you babbling about?" Stoic and strong, Rory quizzed her.

"That damned Padre, he's LEGION!" Coraline collapsed in his arms as she spat out the word that reeked horror for the Tribe. Rory spun around to confirm Katie's safety, yet the sight before him was edification for all his cynicism for his distrust of the Padre.

Katie's demeanor had assumed a blind, wide eyed appearance; her posture had stiffened as she held the lantern aloft. Her eyes narrowed as she listened for something Rory couldn't hear. Katie thrust out a foot forward and without regard for Rory or Coraline; she strode toward Rory's home even as Rory paced behind her, entreating her to stop.

The noise of rabble encircled the two Vampires, carriage wheels, horse hooves thundering. Nervous heartbeats reverberated in droves. Coraline's shriek caught in her throat as Rory read the tone of the approaching crowds; they needed to disappear, a heady challenge with Coraline's garb. Rory's hands went to Coraline's waist and shredded the layers of silk away from her hips, the hoops beneath collapsed at her feet. They fled to the darkest corner of the alley and leapt to the balustrade promenade of Alex's home. They caught the sound of encroaching death for the undead within the brick walls and their eyes met in silent fear. This was the night Rory had feared, the culling that could cyclically occur whenever the Legion was feeling their "oats".

"We need to get out of town, post haste" Rory stated, sub toned. All Coraline could muster was an aggressive nod as they leapt across roof tops to the sound of pistols and vengeful threats. As Coraline hung into the shadow of a chimney Rory turned to see the throngs encircle his home and carry Victor and Wesley out in manacles to the center of the alley.

A strong bass voice boomed from under the hood of a red cape, holding a scroll to the scant light he read, "Victor Wellingham and Wesley Porter, you both stand accused of aiding the undead, the sentence is death". Two assassins raised their pistols at close range, delivering the mortal shot between the eyes. Rory swallowed hard, at least his loyal employees mercifully died in an instant.

His eyes combed the crowd for Katie, under the Padre's mesmerizing what more could she divulge? Now he understood her blood's innocent flavor, she had been influenced without her knowledge. Whatever she had confessed had aided and abetted tonight's ambush. Blindly, without remorse, Rory reached into his pocket and withdrew his Cogswell Pepperbox Revolver, it had served him well at the gambling table and now he vacillated between misery and revulsion at what he felt he had to do.

"What are you waiting for?" Coraline's voice cut his indecision, yet was she questioning his delay or what he was considering?

"I'll be there directly…." Rory's answer was terse as he watched the robed Padre extend his gloved hands toward Katie in her mesmerized state. Her hands rose to the Padre's as she kneeled before him, a wave of gleeful expectancy was singular in this angry crowd. Rory's senses wrought pain with that perception as he dropped to his knees on the roof. Coraline crawled beside him, also watching with rapt attention at this meeting between the deadly Ringleader and his supplicant. "She sold us out, all of us. It was the Padre all along, he's Legion"

"And I sent him home with you, Rory. I am so disgusted" Coraline's hands wrung at the shredded remains of her dress as she viewed the violent tableau of burning homes as the flames licked at the interiors "What do we do now, other than flee?" While he listened Rory fingered the gun, watching for a clear line for the bullet to take down their betrayer.

"Katie, Queen, my child…"The Padre's voice enthralled his minions as they dropped to their knees. "You have served the brotherhood, laying yourself at the doors of the devil. Because of your sacrifice, the city lays cleansed. Now face your cleansing" The sordid priest brought her to her feet as his lieutenant swung his sabre from the shadow of his cape.

Afore Katie could register the priest's words her head lay at her executioner's feet, her crumpled body beside it.

Josef's mind reeled before he lifted the freezer lid. Josef's greatest fear was Mick repeating his own well-meaning mistakes. His energy gathered for his evening's work, his attentions had been drawn to Beth's desire for understanding, her question of "Why me?" seemed like the usual victim's entreaty. Josef remembered understanding "Why me?" when he watched his trusted employees murdered as his house fell.

At best, all Josef could do was steer Mick away from Morgan's hospital bed and steer Beth to understanding Mick's true nature. That and of course, get ready to play some high stakes cards with Tim and Dan…..

It would be almost 100 years before he'd be enthralled by another mortal woman.

Josef thought about that fact as he shook the change in his trouser pocket and wiped his nose. When he cried it was always in private. Watching Mick navigate the twists on the paths of loving a mortal woman was like trying to play a video game with gloves and a blindfold. The sound of the Benz in the driveway tipped him off to straighten up and fly right.

Now Mick appeared in his library, pacing like a caged lion.

"Coraline was a vampire for years now she's as human as Beth. Something changed her back and if she dies I'll never know what that was or how she did it." Mick was the picture of resolution, shoulders back one hand stabbing the air as he spoke to Josef.

"There is no cure….. For vampirism" Josef emphatically denied Mick's claims to Morgan/Coraline's humanity.

"So you say, Josef. For someone 400 plus years old you're either hiding your head in the sand or you're keeping something from me". Mick now had that insolent stance, sending a glare over his shoulder while his left hand pointed accusingly then in a snap he was out the doors and flooring the Benz down the highway.

Left with the image of his losses, Rory turned to Coraline, "Are you happy? Are you happy now?" She shrank back into the shadow of the balustrade as he repocketed his firearm. Alex's home was being circled by the remaining fray as Rory jerked his head toward the home next door, "We have to gather letters of credit, get the carriage, and get out of here"

"The banks are closed, what will you do?" Coraline's dark eyes flashed at Charles, still full of fear.

"Well, it's not beneficial to be Rory Fitzgerald; I believe it's time for a change" With a fresh resolve he winked and sailed on cat feet from roof to roof. Once he found the dark house on the corner he put a finger to his lips and put out a cautioning hand to Coraline. They dropped to the dewy grass as Rory listened for the sounds of humanity.

Twisting the doorknob they entered the office of Charles E. Rider, MD. The graduate of University of Vermont had set up his shingle to practice with the local Hospital. In pitch dark Rory easily advanced to the bulky safe in the corner of the office and listening to the tumblers he deftly opened the safe to find Letters of Credit, a banded stack of bills and a certified copy of a University of Vermont Medical Degree. Tilting his head toward the back of the home, where the staff had hung the clean clothing he pulled conservative clothing for the two of them.

Coraline made a disparaging face as he threw the calico ensemble to her. She donned the long sleeved day dress without the hoops and sneered at the modest high neck and long sleeves. He shook his head, beggars could not be choosers. Once they had assumed their "identities" they silently left the home in search of Dr. Rider's "Doctor Buggy", harnessing the healthiest looking horse the new Charles Rider snapped the reins to move into the night, into their new life.

"What happened to your family, Coraline?" Charles probed as the horse cut a good speed thru the sleepy city. The fray was behind them, looting and murdering so singularly focused they missed the Doctor and the Nurse on a midnight mission.

"Dead"

"How did you get out?" the new Dr. Rider interrogated as the city buildings gave way to a solitary road west.

"I paid a former Pony Express Rider, he wanted to get to the city it was a mutual arrangement" she was succinct, leaving Charles to wonder if she left him drained too.

"Any gold left in that corset of yours?" Charles sniffed as he guided the buggy in the moonlight.

"A few hundred dollars sewn into it" she admitted without realizing his tack.

"Good, you owe me every dime. I have lost everything as Rory Fitzgerald, whether or not I can secure my valuables is a moot point – that existence has been branded as "Vampire" Now he was gaining steam and ready to point more fingers at his cohort in crime.

"Ro…Charles…. I am in the same sordid situation, what am I to do? I have nothing" She fawned at the suggestion she owed him restitution.

"You can prostitute yourself, pickpocket the bastards and be on the next boat to France. I heartily recommend it in fact" His disdain grew in proportion to his hunger with each mile they covered. He felt the numbness overcome his hands, how his stagnant body systems settled with the buggy's rough ride. He had to feed, soon.

"I can't go to France for your information" Coraline fussed with the ruffles on the day dress, the starch and the laundry soap assailed her sensibilities. "It all started when the family intercepted the Cure", she had to be vulnerable to be admitting this nugget of information.

"The Cure, your family "intercepted" it? It is real?" If this espionage was Rory's undoing how could Charles extract the particulars? Charles shifted in the seat to fight the muscle cramps, hoping to put a few more miles behind them. The black buggy ambled out of town, heading northwest.

"What you've heard about it is true, the entire French Revolution was a pogrom against us" As they rode thru the moonlit branches the light dappled her expression as she described the Duvall's survival to immigrate to the new colonies. Charles now contemplated the possibilities of using a cure to "pass" as human, to establish his identity as a physician. There he could have access to blood….

"How long does it last?" he run his tongue over he aching fangs, thinking some of that cure would be capital right about now.

"6-8 weeks, you dose it every 5 to7 weeks" she was feeling the delayed effects of the pandemonium; she felt the lengthening of her fangs, being more hungry than Charles. "There should be a shanty not too far, we can feed there" she spoke as if she was familiar with the location.

It was more than a shanty, it was a sprawling farm house without a farm around it perhaps it was a whorehouse? Charles tapped the reins and brought the buggy around to park. "They accept cash, but I wouldn't waste gold" she spoke authoritatively as she caught Charles' elbow and they made slow paces to the door.

"Good evening, Ma'am, the lady and I just need to rest a moment, water the horse" He tipped his hat and made a movement to show the Doctor bag in his one hand.

"You a doctor?" the slack jawed doorman asked as he leaned an elbow on the doorframe, licking his fat lip.

"Did you require my services?" Charles was ready to assume the identity, leather bag in hand.

"Had a visitor who didn't feel it was necessary to make payment, we had a difference of opinion" he stepped out of the doorway to reveal a man beaten badly, sprawled on a chaise.

"Is he breathing? Charles asked as he approached, listening for a heartbeat. The closer he moved the better it looked for their lot. "Let me get him to the fresh air" Charles carefully lifted the freshly dead man and carried him to the buggy.

"I don't feed from dead men" Coraline intoned subtonally only to have Charles glare and respond.

"You do now". He hoisted the body between them and took the carriage a few hundred yards to a denser forest, near a cold river. "We'll take what we can, then get back on the road" He carried the body and laid him by the river bank. "NOW, Coraline," Charles ignored the stench of sweat and sour sex emanating from their meal and fed with bitter disgust. "We do not know where our next meal will be". He eyed her as she pranced around him, reacting like the prima donna she was.

When she had acquiesced to feed and only when Charles knew she had swallowed a few mouthfuls he carried the dead man to the river and cast him adrift in the black waters. "Why are you so sentimental?" she sneered, getting situated in the buggy.

"It's called respectful, they feed us. I, we owe him peace on his path to Avalon" Charles referred to Isle of Avalon, the Otherworld home of one of the Celtic Underworld Gods. They covered ground until the streaks of lavender sky rose behind them; "Now we need to find a cellar or a cave for a few hours" Charles peeled his keen eyesight to sweep the sparse roadside.

Feeling fed, but not rested, they diverted their ride to a deserted outpost barely visible from the rutted road. In all their time they had covered ground to Sleepy Hollow, north about 25 miles. He knew of a safe house there, hopefully not plundered by the Legion, to his satisfaction, it was not one known by the Duvalls. There were two Underground Railroads operating in America now, one for the living Slaves and another for the stalked undead.

"I hope you don't believe that was enough for me?" Coraline asked as she kicked a dust bunny across the shack's wooden floor. Charles peered closely for the hidden latch to enter the stone cellar for their respite.

"Coraline, if all this" Charles gestured around them, "is not sufficient for you I suggest you light out on your own, just leave the corset, I am serious, you owe me" Their eyes met with great understanding as she followed him meekly into the stone cellar.

The nightfall hadn't filled Charles' senses however he did feel the solitude and ventured in his mind, would it be more advantageous to be broke and without Coraline or have this undead albatross on his back. He rose and redressed looking for signs of lurking foes. The Sun was setting in brilliant purples in the west when he found Coraline in tears clinging to a knurled ancient tree. "I thought you struck out on your own" he conjectured quietly as he tied his cravat.

"I'd be staked with the week, I don't travel well alone" she admitted as she turned a dirty tear stained face to him and using her feminine wiles she snaked her arms around his waist. Resisting her allure, Charles clamped his hands on her wrists; he had forgotten the strength of Vampire women.

"So I get to run interference for your survival?" Charles barked as he stepped away from her, "I am not your type".

"What do you think my type is?" She swung her hips to turn to him, revealing her unbuttoned shirtwaist and pale cleavage.

"At first anyone imprudent enough to believe you", Charles grinned as he took a seat on a wide flat rock to finish tying his boots. "Now I know I'm not dark enough by color or by mood" his whiskey brown eyes grinned as much as his lips. "You like them broody with dark curls that you can run your viper fingers thru". Charles stood and wiped the back of his hand over his dry, cracking lips, "But now, before we collapse, we need to feed"

And that made all the difference in the world, Charles' style was the inimitable old world way, finesse and charm leaving his meal with a sensual quid pro quo. The horse stood rested and watered at the buggy, waiting for their next 12 hours.

"Did you bring that cure with you?" Charles asked after a few miles of rugged road, the trotting back end of the draught horse was becoming mundane.

"In fact I did, but I don't have the formula, which is what everyone wants" Coraline's words weighed heavy on Charles' mind. He was no scientist and he was play acting at doctoring, what had Coraline wrung him into? The moon they rode under was steady and fat; it only served to illuminate their expressions of contempt for each other and their submission to their escape.

"As in your family was going to produce it? What exactly where you going to do with it once you stole it?" Charles prodded because his mind could not ride silently toward his target. He was gob smacked by the fact that Coraline and the Duvalls were undermining the stability of the Tribe by offering an "out". In all his 225 years he wouldn't have considered stepping back into the mortal coil, he had faced the torch-bearing mobs with the weapons of the day and whatever cunning he could pull out of his kit sack.

Giving Vampires the choice to waffle back and forth thru mortality and immortality seemed weak willed, Charles had embraced his Vampirism. From day one when he discovered himself in his deceased Father's mistress' bed he knew he was distinct, a superior life force. The words, "Never surrender, never cede" might as well have been on his crest.

"You don't understand being hunted en masse" Coraline defended.

"Your wits, you use your wits to stay out of the line of fire" Now he found himself snapping the reins when he wished he could whip her and her whole family. "When you lose your grit, you masquerade as something you aren't" Charles fairly spat the words back at Coraline.

"Oh, like being a physician?" her coy lips posed the question that ceased their discussions for miles.

"Coraline, what you do to get thru eternity is your business, what I do I generally mine unless I have encumbrances" His nose sniffed at the word encumbrance; as if to let her know her being with him was an impracticality. Since he had stepped foot onto the Colonies he had lived with creature comforts of a house staff, he had done well exercising his business sense as well as muscle. Being alone, fending for oneself was straining on his gentility.

"What do you expect me to do? I thought I could get back to the continent out of New York Harbor, or Baltimore, now I have nothing and we're headed north" She began finger combing her raven hair, pulling out long hairpins and returning them to catch the strays.

"Preening to seduce your next meal?" Charles sneered as he pushed the buggy further into the dark horizon. Finding roadhouses in wartime were slim, finding homes with sleeping women and children were their only oasis in the hot summer night, "When we do feed, and I mean "when" you need to be discreet" Charles hissed his admonition as they approached a cabin with two horses penned at a distance behind it.

"This doesn't bear the mark of a safe house, so I cannot impress on you the need to dine expediently" Charles alighted from the buggy and deposited his hat and gloves on the seat. Coraline's officious stare acknowledged his directions without letting him know she'd agree to the terms.

The story and a half cabin sat silent in the early morning hours. No fire burned, no loyal dog curled at the cold hearth. The war had taken the man of the house, leaving behind a portly Mother who slept in a small rope bed at the foot of the ladder to the sleeping loft and steady heartbeats of four girls beat in harmony at the top of that ladder. Coraline's eyes glistened at thought of it, virgins, four of them waiting for their lives to begin once the war was over. Charles struck out a fierce hand and made a silent bound up next to the hay stuffed mattress on the floor.

Charles' eyes saddened at the sight, the youngest was 6 or 7, his memory flooded with the image of his sister dying from measles. His hungry eyes weighed the next child, perhaps 9 or 10, gaunt and pale, not a healthy prospect. Then finally a pair of twins, girls in muslin chemises with thick blonde braids lying over their budding breasts, delicate wrists were tucked near their sweet faces and the very throbbing of those veins brought Coraline's fangs to full length. She pointed to one and then to Charles as if to delegate him to the pink bowed lass over the green bowed miss.

Noting the bare hunger in Coraline's eyes, Charles swept her tightly to his chest, administering the threat, "Just enough to get us to the next town, none of your tricks, no sensual allure, no touching" he ground the words out subtonally, feeling his words were for naught he added, "Or you die tonight"

Coraline slumped to her feet from his grasp and evaluated her approach to her "meal", Charles kneeled closely to the girl on the inside, leaving the easier wrist for Coraline, who reluctantly pressed her fangs into the young wrist and drew slow swallows making each mouthful last. Her tightly clasped eyelids told Charles she was fighting the urges to take everything from this woman-child. Charles drew the first mouth of this virgin's blood and swooned at its unspoiled richness. He fought every inclination he had to pull her to his chest even though he had thrust the warning to Coraline. Together they were predators, with only enough time to dine and dash. Once they had taken the edge off their hunger they took a graceful leap out the window at the end of the loft.

"You know you wanted her, all of her" Coraline taunted him as they climbed back into the buggy.

"What I wanted and what I took was the difference in my control" Charles truly felt the exquisite surge of strength from the virgin's buoyant blood.

"There is something about you that defies description, always above board, always by the rules, as if we are all below you. Charles you behave as if the hierarchy has no meaning, as if the Duvall name means nothing." Coraline had taken all the pins out of her hair and lay back against the seat back; catching the heel of her boot on the buggy rail she drew her skirts high to fan the gathering heat within her. Charles caught the scent of her arousal and shook his head, and she was declaring her house's superiority over his. He let her words drop in the air.

Another daybreak found them holing up in a cave, far from the supposed string of "family" safe houses. Was it Charles ineptitude at actually executing a mechanical plan or the lack of an empathetic population? Charles bluffed his way thru card games in dusty saloons while Coraline plied a trade upstairs. Moving cautiously they skirted their way across the rough and disjointed States of America. When the tired horse pulling the Doctor's buggy pulled into the pier in St Louis, Missouri they were barely speaking to each other.

"We have the address of the safe house, the Steam boat leaves at 0800 hours, which means we have almost 12 hours to gather our strength and set a strategy" Charles had given Coraline ultimatums at several turns of her poor behavior, he was about to hand over the Doctor's Buggy and Horse to the agent at the port, hoping to trade passage for 2 to New Orleans. From New Orleans they hoped to find a steamship to Mexico, perhaps the port of Veracruz...

"When we get to Mexico, keep that exquisite mouth of yours closed, they're being invaded by the French and you wouldn't be the most welcome creature" Charles sniffed as he pocketed their boarding passes for a discreet stateroom.

"Charles, when was the last time you had an unexpressed thought?" Coraline fumed as they headed toward the mansion on the darkest corner of a quiet neighborhood, Soulard, in St Louis. The Bohemian immigrants who settled in Soulard brought with them their understanding of the Undead. Tonight, they would rest in a cool stone cellar, dine on a cultivated blood and if the spirits were totally in alignment, perhaps enjoy the company of another vampire other than each other.

"Good Evening, Mr.…." The clerk at the discrete front desk waited for Charles to announce himself.

"Charles…. Dr. Charles E. Rider" He extended a nod to the clerk and produced a letter of credit, securing the overnight stay for the two of them. The quiet hireling led them upstairs and unlocked each of their doors, giving each of them the first privacy they had in many nights.

As he reclined in a brass tub of cool water Charles counted off his past identities, all of them Irish. Of course he had the coloring for it, the pale skin, and the reddish hue when candlelight danced off his hair. "I've got to be more original in the future; I am wearing out the FitzGerald's, Gallagher's and Boyles." He grinned that he wasn't sure what Dr. Rider's nationality was, but from now on…..he'd be Irish. As he found himself almost relaxed there was a gentle knock on the door. "Housekeeping, fresh water and more towels"

"Of course, entre" He sat back with that self-satisfied smile that the next knock would be his meal. The hireling approached the tub with oils and a sea sponge, once he nodded she knelt by the tub and proceeded to lave the cool oil infused water over his shoulders, massaging with strong yet soft skinned hands. Charles reclined and let the silent servant work her magic, unkinking the muscles that had vibrated into knots riding the buggy from Manhattan to St Louis. Then she methodically cleaned each of his nails on both hands and gestured for him to stand to be dried. "I could get used to this, what's your name?"

"Isabella" she lived to serve, eyes cast downward with serious intent at each task. As he stood, immaculate and relaxed she diverted her eyes to the side as she held the oversized impossibly soft Turkish towel to pat his body dry. He grinned at her as she circled his standing body never actually making eye contact with him, "You do that well considering you're not watching where you're going with those hands of yours".

Now he purposefully moved into her touch, starving for the feel of the agreeable impact of her warm flesh even thru the towel. Knowing that she would be impelled to bend to any of his demands, which was not the way he wanted this. He wanted to be wanted, desired, the days of jostling off of Coraline rubbed his spirit as well as his flesh raw. He needed that flesh to be soothed. If there had been two Steamboats going south he would have booked separate passage.

"Thank-you, sir, the management greatly appreciates your pleasant reception" she nearly whispered as she dried down his well-formed buttocks to his muscles thighs, he could have sworn he heard her suck in a deep breath as her toweled hands circled the top of his left thigh.

This boyish behavior kicked in when he turned into her and she inadvertently brushed his hanging length of masculine flesh. Her covered hand moved over him efficiently and thoroughly, drying the weighty length, then cupping and drying the round cool flesh between his now trembling thighs. For a passionless touch, Charles rode the tactile attention with a high measure of pleasure. Isabella completed her trip around his lengthening flesh and went about her way down his other thigh.

Now she moved away from the flesh she had so well aroused and completed her path down to his feet firmly planted on the Oriental rug. When she rose to pat over his muscled shoulders he turned again into her touch, blowing a long cool breath into her tumble of sweaty curls at her hairline. She viewed him now thru sooty black lashes, her face shyly demurred and without a hint of reaction to his cool breath she continued her task at hand.

By now Charles was secure in the knowledge this wisp of a young woman was deftly intent on driving him to the edge of reason, it took 250 years of wisdom not to return her favor, for he needed to feed first. With that thought Charles lurched at the sound of the door creaking open and the arrival of his "meal"

"Isabella, I would be . . . . . . Happy to finish here" the robust Fresher stood in the open doorway, the gossamer wrapper held only around her waist with nothing more than a delicate hand.

This evening's possibilities were improving ever so much. The femme in the doorway possessed a delicate beauty that caused Charles to see Isabella as somewhat of a hard case. As Isabella moved toward Charles with his silk robe, his eyes never left the ebony eyes of the woman who would be his entertainment and his sustenance.

"You didn't bring me any of that tar water they serve next door did you?" he stood smoothing his hair into something of a hairstyle while they gravitated toward each other. The door swung shut with a finality that Charles welcomed.

The thought of reclining and feeding and lavishing attention to a warm woman gave Charles a shiver of pleasure.

"Well, bully, bully, I do believe that the long ride from Manhattan has been almost worth it, what is your name?" Charles held out a hand to draw her closer.

"Penelope" the syllables rode a slow breath from her plump lips as her eyes creased into a smile. "I bid you hello from the management"

"Then let me receive this gift in a welcoming manner, Penelope." His fingers found hers so he could hold her arms aloft, letting the silken robe fall open for a fleshly reveal. "You are indeed a treasure, let's take our repose over here" Charles led her to a red silk chaise where he welcomed her fine form alongside of his. Charles chuckled as they became familiar with each other's flesh "Why aren't we snug as a bug in a rug?" he caught the shoulders of her wrapper and revealed her creamy shoulders, she smelled of buttermilk and rosewater and he was famished.

Why did Charles embrace being what he was? Because centuries ago in a dank castle in Ireland he had heard the whispered gossips behind tapestries, women bemoaning their fate of being joined to a man who had grown so flaccid and complacent that he relied on potions to sustain his "prowess". Charles had snippets of verse over the loss of manhood and this was something he swore he would rail against. His days of his youth were spent in toting logs and lifting buckets of water to hone his muscles to hard bands on his biceps and thighs. He'd back away from drunken nights as he heard his cronies lament the "spirit is willing but the flesh is weak".

A woman's pleasure was his pleasure. Falling prey to his Father's mistress did not end his life, he only felt she had indeed given his the ultimate gift, and being with even a mortal woman was the chance to celebrate.

Penelope's flesh had been well fed; she had been bathed and dressed to please; now she would. He felt her heat grow as her curiosity bloomed. No doubt she had dealt with so many sensibilities of vampire, she knew not what to expect. Having a vampire gently inhale her, hover with hands barely touching her arms ran a shiver thru her. She had never fell prey to a being like this. Charles felt her energy, let it roll to him where he embraced all she was with his pale strong arms. He caught the flutter of her heart as he held her tight, read her anticipation as he drew his knee between her pale soft thighs. With a graceful roll he was over her, threading lithe fingers thru her strawberry blonde ringlets.

"Ahh…." His vocalizations where limited to forced breaths and extended syllables of pleasant discovery. She echoed those, elevating the sound with each of his. They were touching, moving her heartbeat, his tongue finding a sensitive place that she would parrot on his body, tit for tat they communed in their fleshly delights.

Her pale flesh shone with a light layer of exquisite sweat and Charles slid her body along his to amplify that power between them. Her nipples rose hard on the crests of her breast as he tongue danced from peak to peak. She returned the favor by catching his ample steely length between her thighs, squeezing to tease his before their joining.

The drumbeat strain told Charles everything he needed, it drove him to catch her fleshly petals in his lips and draw her finale out of her, sweetening her blood. Her fingernails dug into his hair as she writhed beneath his mouth, nipping once to sample her blood offering where her thigh became her womanity. He gasped at the flavor, long lost, too long lost since he had dined of an offering given with such fervor.

When the sample had passed his lips he was impelled to press upward, to impale her trembling flesh with sure, deep strokes. Charles crept lightly up to her face drawn by ecstasy, by expectations of his next move. In her throws she had bitten her own lip and he caught the swollen flesh within his lips and suckled as she groaned. He pressed deeply, stroking with deliberate intention, building on the feelings he had given her with his lips he drove her over again and again. When the bloom of her skin had risen to a florid pink he felt his body's reaction to her blood, to her nectar and her scent. He fell into a chasm as if lit by the sun he could truly no longer enjoy and he held her to him as he bit. Together they shook with their completion, long moments stretched further until he felt her heartbeat settle slowly. He heard her sigh, and knew by all his sated hungers he had taken all he could safely receive from her.

The raucous on the floor was sublimated under Charles' extreme satisfaction. The Proprietor banged on his door, "DR. RIDER…..Dr. RIDER, we have a situation" he knocked hard again when there was no answer. "Dr. RIDER, please" the door swung open, the Vampire Proprietor took the distance from the door to his bed in one leap.

"Whatever are you yelping about, Godfrey?" Charles' expression registered extreme displeasure at being pulled away from the fair and fine, languishing Fresher.

"It is the lady, and I use the term loosely, she seems to have required. . . . . . Staking" Godfrey's lip curled in distaste at bearing the news to her travelling companion.

"Then you rendered her still, leave her be" Charles resumed nuzzling Penelope's breast.

"A word about the . . . . . situation, sir, if you would please" Godfrey's tone became serious, less accommodating even a tad more stringent. When Godfrey stood over Charles, nearly nose to nose he knew it was time to rise to whatever Coraline had caused as an occasion.

"As you say, let me dress, can you spare 5 minutes?" Charles' respondent tone requested leeway to dress and join Godfrey outside.

Charles scented the carnage before he rounded the corner. Patrons skulked in the corners, drawing back from the initial uproar. Charles stood in the doorway, his discerning eye separating the arterial spray from the ornate wallpaper pattern of cabbage roses and ivy. Flanking his staked travelling partner were two fine looking young men, or they had been when they entered the bed. Their long brown waves lay wet with their own blood, their muscled bodies riddled with bite marks splayed over their more licentious locations. Hazel eyes wide open; their faces displayed a stupor of their final incredulousness.

"Didn't you hear their screams?" a sultry blonde vamp posed in the doorway opposite Coraline's suite. "I was about to ask if I could join in….it sounded like quite a" her bright blue eyes danced as she sought the correct word, "soiree". She tucked her robe around her perennially pert breasts and shook her head, "I do not believe there's enough to fill a shot glass between them. She was voracious" and she ducked back into her darkened suite, leaving the door open on her own ménage a trois.

"What does she owe you?" Charles scratched at his head, thinking about the corset lined with ten dollar gold pieces.

"This suite will require cleaning, two burials, and she forfeits her deposit." Godfrey sniffed at the drudge work to be done.

"Add another casket and we'll call it a deal." Charles rifled thru her armoire to find the corset, renting the fabric at a seam he extracted coins sufficient for the damages.

"Another casket, sir?" Godfrey drew quiet, unsure of its occupant. Charles drew closer as he passed the gold coins, even Godfrey's eyes drew down to slits, expectant, he drew himself up to his full 6'4" height.

Charles leaned over the bed, his lively eyes meeting hers, paralyzed then proclaimed "I asked God for a way to silence you, but I know God doesn't work that way. So we stake you, box you up and ask I'll for forgiveness".

"I need a proper lady's black lace dress, something modest something with a shawl. I'll be transporting this good woman back to California interned." Charles paced the destroyed room, kicking at discarded clothing, as he concocted a plan. There comes a time in your life, when you walk away from all the drama and people who create it, he returned to his room and wound the alarm clock for 5 am, he did need some rest alongside this luscious woman before he headed down the Mississippi to the Gulf of Mexico.

The paddlewheel steamer stood awash in the summer dawn. Longshoremen moved crates of inspected personal goods; industrial items had long since been seized for the glorious war efforts. A dapper Dr. Charles Rider rode to the dock in a carriage bearing the casket holding his dearly departed wife. The grieving Doctor wore gauze over his eyes, under the round, dark glasses. Rumor had it he had been blinded at Bull Run when the fracas came to close to his ministering to the injured. His Nurse and beloved wife was a casualty of an errant mini-ball, he was repairing to California to mourn in peace. Charles carefully dismounted the carriage as members of the crowd rushed to assist him, women dabbed at their eyes at the sad sight of the handsome young widower.

"Thank you for your service to the cause" a wizened old man croaked as Charles was led by him, his vamp sense picked up the fuss of women, the general wave of blather and natter from behind women's fluttering fans. The dollar bill to each of the two panhandlers outside the carriage house seemed to have born great fruit; so far Charles was amassing sympathy for his situation and passing for mortal at the same time.

This was a stroke of genius he gathered as he assessed the boarding public. From under the gauze he could survey his fellow travelers, draw a bead on the lushes, the fast numbers and the late night snacks. The down side, he could play no cards…..what would he do for amusement?

The mighty wheel gathered steam and chugged thru the River water and the boat left the dock, Charles pressed against the ship's railing waving to all and no one in particular. He felt the summer's morning sun and knew he had to repair to his inside cabin on the end of the ship. As a recuperating war veteran his request for a quiet and dark cabin was granted. Of course, the ornate casket holding the body of his beloved wife was below decks with the large steamer trunks.

His lips took on a particular curl with his epiphany; he could drop the body at a church in Veracruz. There would be this beautiful woman, taken in the flower of youth. He would open the casket to reveal to the Parish Priest her unblemished skin, no sign of decay. Surely this would be a miracle, a sign from God, The Father that Death would have no dominion over the faithful. Perhaps the church could make a few coins on the pilgrims traveling to pray for their intentions. It would suit Charles just fine if they kept Coraline in perpetuity, at least he would be rid of the raven haired albatross.

Then he calculated the ruse would work until some unassuming sexton might jostle the casket enough or the wood degrade within her body fluids to work the stake loose and literally all Hell would break loose. Holding the secrets of the undead meant parlor humor or gags such as this one would backfire badly.

As "Dr." Rider released the silk cravat at his throat he assessed his "life", tonight he'd have to hunt, each night on the water he'd be hunting. There he was in a confined situation where a slip of the fang would spill his secret, for the sake of the Tribe and Coraline bundled in a casket he needed to be on his game every night. He drew the draperies and retired until the darkness brought him relief from the summer heat.

When the good Dr. Rider stirred after moonrise he decided he would surround himself with people who would make him laugh, forget the bad, and focus on the good. He was moving toward his goal of a safe relocation. Surely California's promise of Gold was the obvious tease yet if he could muster the means for a ship and build a dynasty he could prosper for generations of "incarnations".

A diligent sense of urgency always intruded, driving him onward. Charles understood this haunting as the undead extension of a young man whose life in Ireland ended too soon, that and the deep, pervasive sense of sorrow that haunted him.

The nine nights he spent on the River he was the elusive, solitary stranger. He'd pay a penny to a young man to sit beside him and describe the bonfires on the river banks, two coins if the teen would describe the passing women in whispers. Just for the conversation of it, otherwise who else would he converse with? Charles would have preferred a boatload of tanked-up harlots, feeding would have been more pleasurable, yet his lot was cast to feed upon the card sharks fallen asleep after a cigar on a darkened deck corner or an off duty crewman with a couple of shots under his belt. He pieced together a sip here and long snorts there.

As his restlessness grew for an obliging woman and a long draw on her silken neck he caught word they'd dock In New Orleans before dawn. He sat in rapt anxiety at the thought of stepping off the ship and making the next move alone into unknown territory, should he find passage south to the Islands? Too warm. Should he make his way to South America? His Spanish was too weak.

His eyes snapped open to the sound of Longshoremen singing as they unloaded the cargo. CORALINE, he barked as if she was a wild recollection. He dressed hastily and gathered his packed valise; he bounded to the deck checking his speed as he rounded a corner. "Watch where….Oh, excuse me Dr. Rider; may I assist you to the deck?" That was his cue to measure his steps slowly, hand on the railing.

"I was concerned for my wife" he choked out the words, on the voice of a broken, grieving husband.

"Your wife, sir?" the crewman shook his head, "ah, Dr. Rider, yes your wife's casket is yet to be brought up" the crewman took the crook of Charles' arm and led him to a bench. "If you'll have a seat I will escort you to meet her casket on the dock" The crewman's voice elicited kindness at his realization that this was the widower Doctor they had all bussed about in their crew cabins.

Charles' patience wore as he waited, bristling to have Coraline's imprisoning casket loaded to the Freighter headed for Veracruz. "Dr. Rider?" the crewman bent to whisper into his ear

"I'm not deaf, I am blind" his hands rested on the top of his valise in his lap.

"Of course, sir, will you come with me?" again with the solicitous hand at his arm, they tread down the gangplank to meet this Oak casket dockside. The agent for the freighter stood anxious to collect the fare for one live passenger and 1 piece of cargo.

"Dr. Rider, we'll be embarking at sunset, arriving in Veracruz, Mexico within the week. Have you arranged for burial in Mexico?"

Charles fought the temptation to smile at his scheme to leave her at a church, "No sir, it's a better man that I who can leave her into the ground" that statement left a pall over the conversation momentarily.

"Then should we arrange for ground travel, sir?" the ship's agent wrung his hands as if to hold the cash. The stray dog combing the dock for handouts sniffed around the wheels of the wagon and set up a mournful howl at the Oak coffin. The ship's agent kicked at the dog and it gave Charles a suspect look before it hunkered away.

"Would you accept my letter of credit for passage?" Charles attempted to parcel out the gold coins only when necessary. Gulls circled and cried, fighting for street vendors scraps. The air hung humid and fetid around them, especially for Charles.

"Dr. Rider, of course" the man nodded deeply and raised a hand to the Longshoreman to move the casket onto the horse cart. "Ride with us, sir" the agent guided him to the front of the buckboard wagon. As the city's spicy air hit his nose he regretted he could put down roots right there in New Orleans, perhaps find some property build his dynasty here. Then the bristling ache to flee stung him and he looked forward to the golden state.

Veracruz, Mexico sat as a jewel on the Gulf of Mexico. The scent of verdant jungles rolled from the land toward the Gulf. Charles' senses were on alert to the opportunities to wander the turbulent town for a few hours, sans dark glasses. His feet welcomed the solid ground, the enterprising drover who agreed to include him on their journey to California. He saw in the distance, the break in the mountain range, understanding the journey would be a long adventure, perhaps something he should journal.

His suite's windows swathed in gauze separated the carnivorous mosquitos from the true blood – sucker. Charles sat unwinding the gauze from his eyes, relishing the warm air as it reached his face. He rubbed his dry eyes and took time to splash some cool water from the ceramic jug on the bureau. Tonight he would lavish in some small luxury, a fresh cigar to sense the searing smoke circulate within him, the vibrant blood of an admiring woman and a card game. He had missed the chance to stare across a table, heaped with cash, into the eyes of a steel nerved opponent.

"Dr. Rider", there was a knock at the door; "We welcome you to our humble establishment, would you accept this expression of our hospitality?" The young man presented marble slab of Cajeta (milk candy/caramel) and a flask of golden tequila, "Should you need anything" then the young man realized Charles' eyes were unbandaged. "Dr. Rider, your eyes are …. Can you see me?"

"Thank –you, Guillermo, yes my vision has returned" Charles saw the young man's spirit flag, "You are surprised?"

"I had thought you would engage me as a guide" he shuffled on the wooden floor, eyes down, resigned, "My name is Guillermo"

"My eyes never spoke the language, Guillermo. Perhaps I can use your skills. Unfortunately, Doctors do not have unlimited resources, I cannot afford much" Had the youth thought to make local coin or travel to California?

"I was a house boy for the President Benito Juarez, the house was turbulent, I seek something less…" he fumbled for the words, Charles understood political upheaval.

"You'd like something relaxed?" Charles busied himself placing the gifts on the bureau and adopted a more welcoming stance as he warmed to Guillermo.

"I hear you are taking your wife to California, I would greatly appreciate the opportunity to be your envoy while we travel thru my country" he stepped closer, his hands clasped as if pleading.

"Then be prepared to leave tomorrow morning" Charles extended a hand toward the nervous youth, "9 am"

"Si, senor" the dark haired youth stepped back toward the door way where Charles detected a haversack dropped in the hall.

"This, gift" Charles tilted his head toward the caramels and the liquor, "These are from you, not the hotel?"

"Si, si, my Mother makes the finest candies in this area. She saw my plight at being exposed to the political unrest"

"It is a Mother's wish for her son to do better. Then it is a deal, if I can count on your discretion at all times" Charles rocked on the balls of his feet, his hands clasped before him, feeling the situational waters between him and the youth.

"I know when to turn an eye to things sir" He nodded vociferously, wanting to seal their partnership.

"See me before 8:30 tomorrow, in front of the hotel" Charles struck out a hand to shake on their agreement and it was done. Guillermo Lopez would be his ear to the ground.

The Church tolled the Angelus bells at 6am, Charles had been long laying there debating his snide idea to leave Coraline where people would be praying at least 3 times a day. He washed and dressed, checking the fit of the new Panama Straw hat to ward off the heat of the day. He bounded to the lobby and made his restitution then eyed the covered wagon waiting outside. Guillermo was early; it was yet 7:30, his eagerness rolled off him in waves.

"Dr. Rider?" The drover approached the well-dressed "doctor", pulling off his trail gloves to shake hands. He smelled of the trail, of buckskins melded to his muscular body by days in the saddle under the melting sun. Whiskers covered the angular jaw, his wavy long dark hair caught in a rawhide band at this neck.

"Mr. Emerson, so good to meet you, how many more are joining us?" Charles retrieved the dark glasses from his coat's breast pocket.

"Call me Carter; we'll be meeting the rest of the party a few miles outside of Veracruz, after dark. They seem to have an aversion to travelling in the heat of the day, so we'll travel and break for a while. Dr. Rider, are you ready to head off on the adventure of a life time?"

"Carter, I certainly am, that's exactly what I expect"

This next "incarnation" he was hell bent on releasing that sorrow. It would require patience to find his niche in California, determination to find his community and strength to muster through the cumbersome days ahead. Charles dressed himself for cigars and music tonight as he formulated his future strategies. Love the people who treat you right, watch the ones who don't. Even an endless "Life" is too short to be anything but contented. Falling down is a part of life, getting back up is living, even when you're undead…

Josef palmed his keys and drove to the hospital; he slid on his Persol sunglasses and tapped his wide brim fedora at a natty angle. Popping collar of his Burberry trench coat, he clipped into the concierge medicine department and extended a cool hand, whipping off the sunglasses as he focused his gaze, "JOURDAIN Vincent, I'm here to inquire about my sister, Morgan Vincent". With his inimitable debonair, he had was at Morgan/Coraline's side within moments.

"I'd like a few moments with my sister, if you please?" his intense eyes bored thru the charge nurse's weariness and she nodded and left, drawing the door closed. Josef pulled the chair toward Morgan/Coraline's sleeping form. "Mon ami, you have no idea the fury you have unleashed in your young one. It would be unwise for you to stay in Los Angeles, or even California, I suggest you gather your resources and head east for your existence." Was it the words or the tone of his whispers that led her kohl eyelashes to flutter as her body stiffened with his admonition?

"I want to you make your demonstration of death and be gone. I am calling your twisted sister in crime, Cynthia, and I expect her to aid and abet you in your escape." Morgan/Coraline's legs extended as her back arched, eyes still closed her reaction seemed to register and that was fair enough with Josef.

"Then I want you to forget Mick, leave him be" Josef's lips brushed her ear with these words, hoping to blow the words into her languishing brain. Then as if an afterthought he added, "Remember Veracruz" His back stiffened as he pushed back the chair to its place and left to search for the Medical Care concierge.

The usually composed Medical Administrator stood stiff backed as he approached her and with a graceful handclasp and accompanying pat on her shoulder he made that definitive eye contact. "Good evening, thank you for giving me that time with Morgan."

"Her circumstances are quite odd" The woman was fishing for the scoop on the puncture wound.

"Morgan gets into odd circumstances, you know, ADD, she's an inveterate risk taker." Josef blew her off, and then came in for the clinch, "When she wakes, I'd like to be called, here's my number" and he slipped her a simple white 80 pound linen stock with "Jourdain Vincent, Antiquities, 619.255.5555". For some odd reason, the Medical Administrator was left fingering the texture of the business card long after Josef's Mercedes 300SL Gullwing was out of the parking lot.

As he guided his silver 1954'Gullwing to his office parking lot, he had just minutes to get to the Poker game. Where was Mick's car? Josef was agitated at Mick's absence tonight as well as his preoccupation with Morgan, the Cure and his push me-pull-you relationship with Beth Turner. How was that going to end?

The End


End file.
